Last Friday Jaime and I had the welcome surprise of the fabulous YaYa making an appearance in Asheville on her way up to see Uncle Craig for the weekend. It is always such a treat to hang with Lil and show her a day in the life of her grandbabies. We went to Tiny Tykes and ChicFilA as part of our weekly Friday ritual and she was nice enough to keep the kids while I ran a 10K course in North Asheville that afternoon. The run was one of my coldest ever. My lips were almost bleeding from the wind but more importantly the sun was shining. I LOVE sunshine, even in the cold. I came home feeling very cold and a little strange but gave it up to the weather and the fact I ran all the way to the tippity top of Cherokee without stopping (Which I can do now, after a year of trying. Can I get a Whoot Whoot?). Anyway, since Yaya was in town Jaime and I had the option of going out on a Friday night without paying a hundred dollars for a sitter. Oddly enough though, I didn't feel like it at all. Still, I got dressed and went. Who knew when the opportunity would present itself again. So we went downtown and eventually ended up at our neighbors house watching a movie. A drank a few beers but was still home by eleven o-clock and asleep before mid-night. Enter, 3:30am. I opened my eyes, the room was spinning and I had goose bumps. First thought; Why am I so hungover? What is going on? I stood up and literally projectile vomited everywhere. I mean, everywhere. From then on and for the next 12 hours, I didn't stop throwing up. It was the sickest I think I have ever been. Around 3:30 the next day I eventually stopped puking but I couldn't move. My body ached to unfathomable proportions. I have no idea what I would have done if it hadn't been Saturday and if I would have had to watch the boys through all that. It was insane. Jaime was on fire as Florence Nightingale and totally took care of me and the kids. Sunday morning I was starting to come out of the funk but still needed a little more rest... So he took the kids to gymnastics.
11:15am- Phone rings. Josiah fell on the trampoline. Can't stand up, in pain, going to the hospital. What? Will they even let my sick ass in the hospital? I am like a walking vaccine. Regardless, I jumped up with more adrenaline and speed than I had in over 24 hours and raced to Mission. My poor little boy had broken his right tibia. It is the hardest thing ever to see your children in pain, especially Josiah. He isn't just a regular whimpy kid. He may be the toughest, fastest, most awesome kid of all time. He can't have a broken leg! But he did and we would have to figure out what the heck we were gonna do with him for the next 3 weeks. Here he is at the orthopedist, with his new green cast, and living out all of his fantasies of watching movies all day long.
Anyway, we have been overwhelmed by all of the love and support that we have received from friends, family, Josiah's preschool and the ladies at the YMCA. From daily visits, to care packages and lots of special treatment, I think even little Oliver has started looking for ways to break his leg too. Thank heavens that the fracture will heal so fast (well, 18 days is kind of an eternity to a mom with a 1 year old and the inability to sit down, but you know what I mean) and that Josiah still has the ability to win the Boston Marathon one day. Thank you so much to everyone who has helped us smile over the course of a really crappy weekend followed by a lovely week.
No comments:
Post a Comment